Ereganon
by avintagerose
Summary: How often do we look at the good guys and not bother to think about who the bad guys are? This is the story of Ereganon, a soldier of the Haradrim.
1. Prologue

I wrote this fic three or four years ago and had it on another website, but I've decided to revise and republish. Hope you enjoy.

Yes, I'm writing an actual fanfiction. Not a parody. You're welcome to flame me as you see fit if you don't like it. It would be hypocritical of me to complain about negative reviews when I give others negative reviews so much.

King Mezkhil sat on his throne, looking over wrinkled papers. The table in front of him was covered with maps; wrinkled reports of movement to the northeast, in the desolate, dirty land of Mordor; old, worn books of lore; Mezkhil enjoyed reading. The room around him was dark, the fireplace and a few candles on his table casting shivering red light across the room. The darkness matched Mezkhil's mood. His brows were furled in worry, and an involuntary frown had plastered itself on his face. The reports from Mordor were troubling. Orcs were stirring again, and Barad-dur was rebuilt. A rider in black had given him a message; the Dark Lord expected old alliances to be renewed. Mezkhil wanted to weep for his people; for centuries they had lived in freedom, but now it looked as if the Haradwaith would again be covered in darkness.

A rustling noise startled Mezkhil from his gloomy reverie. "Who is there?" he called into the shadows, terrified.

"It is only me, Father," replied a handsome young man, stepping out of the darkness. It was Prince Tekraht, the prince regent. He would inherit the throne once Mezkhil was dead. His olive skin and glimmering brown eyes were the only things Mezhkil could see; Tekraht was dressed in black. The king wondered how he could be even slightly disturbed by his own son.

"It is troubling, Tekraht... the Darkness has returned, and he is stronger than ever, even without the mighty weapon of lore. I do not know what to do... he wants to renew the old alliance. He wants our

young men to fight and die so that he can cover the entire world in the Darkness with which he once covered the Haradwaith."

"There are those who would welcome a time of greatness again, Father," replied Tekraht, testily.

Mezkhil sighed tiredly. "My son, do not trouble me with such foolish words. The time under the Darkness was not a time of greatness, despite what many believe. It was a time of slavery and death, We cannot allow our kingdom to fall into Sauron's hands again."

Tekraht began fiddling with something behind his back. "For the good of our people, Father... we must serve him again... or he will kill us all."

Mezkhil looked up in shock. "No! Death is better than slavery and torment! Did I not teach you that from birth, my son?"

Tekraht stepped forward, speaking earnestly. "Father, if we fight, the slavery and torment will be worse! We must submit, or we will all die. The Dark Lord has promised to give us greatness once again! For our people, we must join him. For our people..."

"No, my son! I refuse to submit to him! Do not disturb me with these troubling words of yours!" cried Mezkhil, turning away from his son to look into the fire.

"Well then, Father... if you will not submit... even for the good of our people... then I will!" Tekraht pulled a knife from behind his back and lunged forward. In utter shock, Mezkhil ducked out of the way, and began to run for the door. Just as he had reached it, a servant stepped out from behind a column and stabbed him. The king sank to the floor, moaning. All his life he had tried to correct the mistakes of his ancestors, and now his son had decided to make the same mistakes. He wasn't sure which hurt more, the stab wound or his son's betrayal. Because of Tekraht, the Haradwaith would again be covered in darkness.


	2. Chapter 1

All Ereganon ever wanted was a peaceful life.

He lived in the Sutherland, the Haradwaith, a grassland that was slowly becoming a desert. As a child, he had enjoyed great freedom. He would run across the fields, his arms outspread is if they were wings; he sometimes felt as if he could fly. The King of Harad had been trying to correct the mistakes of his ancestors, and give his people peace.

The Haradrim were largely nomadic, with only a small number of themstaying in the few cities that were left from the Darkness. Some legends said that the Dark Lord had destroyed the cities, others, that the Last Alliance of Elves and Men had done it. It mattered little to Ereganon who had done it. All that mattered was that he was abled to live a peaceful life, marry a good woman, raise good children, and so on.

Ereganon was a tall, pensive young man, and it showed on his face. He was never very athletic, though he could win a fight if need be. His shoulder-length, curly, black hair made an excellent frame around his round, dark face. His eyes were dark brown and gentle.

He had had his eye on a young woman in his tribe for quite some time. Her name was Alanyn, and she was very much like him. She wasn't very beautiful, or very talented, or very smart, but she was gentle, and loving, and she was everything Ereganon wanted in a wife. She was good with the children of the tribe, and many said that she would be the perfect mother. Ereganon loved her deeply, and hoped to ask her hand in marriage at the Tiraltin Dance.

The Tiraltin Dance was an annual celebration of life. The young people would dance, and the old people would watch, laughing at the boys who would try desperately to get certain young ladies to notice them. It was customary for a young man to ask a young woman to marry him at the Dance.

The tents were all arranged in a circle, and small poles were set up next to each. Little colored scarves flapped in the wind. Some poles had no scarves, others had over ten. The scarves represent boys and girls who were old enough to participate in the Tiraltin Dance. Three scarves flapped from the pole next the tent of Ereganon's family. A bright green scarf represented Ereganon's older sister, and a dark blue represented his younger sister. His was in the middle, a bright red scarf.

The young people were all milling about in the circle, waiting for the musicians to begin playing. The tip of the sun had just touched the earth, and the torches had been lit. Ereganon was wearing a dark green robe; it had a few holes in it, but it was his best, and he looked very handsome in it. He looked over toward Alanyn's family's tent; so far, Alanyn and her sisters hadn't come out yet. Nervously, he adjusted his collar. It chafed at his neck, but Lynta, his older sister, said that it made him look handsome.

He glanced at Alanyn's tent again, and did a double take. She and her three sisters had just emerged. She was wearing a deep red gown, and her black curly hair was done into hundreds of tiny braids and rolled into a bun. Her large black eyes seemed to be searching the dance floor for something. When she saw Ereganon, she smiled shyly, and walked up to him. "I really like the wooden statue you carved for me."

Ereganon looked at his feet. "It was nothing, really," he replied shyly.

"Nonsense. My father said that boys only work that hard on a betrothal piece," she replied, smiling.

Ereganon blushed. "I suppose so."

"I--" Alanyn was interrupted when a rider rode into the middle of the circle. His horse was white with lather, and the whites of its eyes were showing; it was terrified. The rider looked no better. His armor was scratched and dusty. Dried blood was smeared across his face, and his eyes looked as terrified as the horse's. "Is there an Elder here?" he asked, panting.

"I am here," called Alanyn's father, Elder Halfad.

The rider dismounted and bowed. "Elder, I bring dire news. King Mezkhil had been murdered, and his son, Tekraht, has taken the throne.

Tekraht has just announced a renewal of the alliance between Harad and Mordor. Bands of Haradrim soldiers are sweeping across the plains, killing entire tribes and forcing the young men to join them. They are less than an hour away from this place, Elder."

All the people were quiet. Alanyn was clinging to Ereganon's arm, terrified. All eyes were on Elder Halfad. The Elder's jaws were working as he stared around at the terrified people around him. His eyes stopped on Alanyn, and traveled slowly upward to Ereganon. He was clearly deep in thought. Ereganon nodded slowly, knowing what was going through the Elder's mind. Halfad saw him nod, and looked down at the ground. He took a deep breath to steady his nerves. "We cannot move fast enough to escape them. We can only stand and fight."

They all stood there quietly for a little while, then the men began to go into their tents and grab their weapons. It all seemed so peaceful, a real contrast to the music and dancing and excited chatter that had been there just five minutes before. Ereganon looked into Alanyn's terrified eyes, and leaned down and kissed her. She tried to pull away weakly, then stopped. After a few moments, he pulled away, and headed for his family's tent. He was shaking; it wasn't like him to do something like that. He grabbed a spear, bow, and shield that had belonged to his father before the old man had died. He wondered if this was it; would they all die that night? Would he be forced to fight for the very people who would kill his family? The ones who would kill Alanyn? The very thought of his love dying made him tremble. Would he be able to do this?


End file.
